White Shores
by Elf Eye
Summary: Legolas and Gimli sail to the Undying Lands in the face of an uncertain reception.


**White**** Shores**

"Are we there yet?" growled Gimli.

Legolas gave the sigh of the long-suffering.

"I don't know, Gimli," he admitted. "I have never been there before."

"So we could be a s'en night away?"

"Yes."

"A fortnight?"

"Yes."

"A moon?"

"Yes."

"An entire circuit of the sun?"

"Yes."

"What if we run out of lembas bread?"

"I thought you were sick of lembas bread."

"I am, but I am even less fond of starvation."

"As I have told you, we will catch fish."

"And eat it raw?"

"Yes."

"How much lembas bread did you say we have left?"

"Enough for another month."

"Good. No so bad, lembas bread."

Gimli fell silent for awhile, leaning against the side of the boat. Then he sat upright suddenly.

"Is that a cloud over yonder?"

"Yes, Gimli, it is. I have been watching it this past hour. Let us hope that it will pass over us. We are rather low on water."

Legolas' wish was granted, and the two voyagers watched with pleasure as their water casks were refilled. Gimli tilted back his head and let some of the raindrops fall into his mouth.

"Ah," he said at last, wiping his beard, "I never thought I'd taste anything sweeter than beer, but this here rainwater wins out over any ale in any tavern o' Middle-earth."

"Thirst lends relish to the plainest beverage," observed Legolas, smiling at his friend. 'My friend', he thought, 'my friend. Time was when that would have sounded odd. Now it would sound odd to call him anything else'.

"Legolas," said Gimli.

"Yes, Gimli."

"You do think that they will have me?"

"I hope so."

"But you are not sure?"

"No, I am not sure. But if they will not have you, Gimli, I shall return with you to Middle-earth."

"There is nothing there for you, Legolas."

"You will be there."

"I will die. And then there will be nothing."

"There will be the places that you loved—that you and I both loved. Arda is a beautiful land. Wherever I step, the memories of my friends shall arise before me. I shall be forever smiling at the thought of them."

"Legolas, if they won't have me, I can sail back by myself. There is no reason for you to forfeit your kindred in order to return with me to Middle-earth."

Legolas shook his head.

"You lack all sea-craft. You would fall from the boat before the first day out."

"No loss there. I'm going to die anyway. It doesn't make any sense for you to sacrifice everything just to stretch things out for me a few months. Look at me, Legolas!"

Legolas looked. Gimli's reddish-brown hair had faded to white, and his thick beard had grown sparse. He was thin, and his skin was wrinkled and as translucent as a dragonfly's wing on a sunny day. As Legolas gazed upon the elderly Dwarf, Gimli was suddenly seized by a coughing spasm. The Elf took hold of his shoulders to steady him.

"You should rest, Gimli."

"What about you? You have hardly slept since we set out on this voyage—unless you want to count the time you have spent dreaming with your eyes open, however you manage that odd trick. After all these years, I still haven't gotten used to that peculiar habit of yours!"

"I find such waking dreams to be very restful."

"And I find them to be downright uncanny. What say you close your eyes for a change? I'd sleep better knowing you're not staring at me, as it were."

"Very well, my friend. I shall close my eyes for a bit."

Legolas wrapped himself in his cloak—the one given him by Galadriel so many years before—and lay down in the bottom in the boat. Gimli, also wrapped in his Lothlórien cloak, did likewise.

Legolas awoke to the sound of a splash. He bolted up anxiously and gazed all about. No Gimli. He peered over first one gunnel and then the other. There was the Dwarf, awkwardly attempting to swim downward. He should have failed utterly were it not for the fact that he was weighed down by the axes stuck into his belt. Legolas dove after him, batted aside his hands in order to seize and cast aside the axes, and then pulled him up to the surface.

"Gimli," he exclaimed as they broke the surface. "Are you mad?"

"Quite sane, really," sputtered Gimli. "Thought I'd join Boromir, don't you know."

"Boromir is dead."

"My point pre-cise-ly," retorted the Dwarf. "He and I really ought to keep each other company. You, however, belong with your kin."

"You _are_ my kin, Gimli. We are sworn-brothers."

"_I_ don't remember taking such an oath."

"An oath was never necessary. We became sworn-brothers the day we stood side by side at the Gate of Mordor waiting to die together. It was nothing that had to be said—and it cannot be unsaid, so don't even try!"

Gimli was opening his mouth to speak and now clapped it shut. He looked very unhappy. At last he spoke.

"Legolas, I shall never forgive myself if you are turned away on my account."

"And I," rejoined Legolas, "shall never forgive myself if you die alone, with no one to comfort you and to mark your passing. And as I am an immortal, I would have to spend a lot more time feeling miserable than _you_ would!"

Gimli couldn't answer this and didn't even try. Grumbling, he lay down in the bottom of the boat and truly fell into a deep sleep. Reassured by the Dwarf's snoring—which, by the by, Legolas realized that he had not heard earlier—the Elf at length fell asleep as well—with his eyes open, of course.

A month later Gimli was mournfully looking on as Legolas cast a line into the sea.

"Raw fish, eh?"

"Raw fish or nothing. The lembas bread is quite gone."

Gimli looked into a water cask.

"The water is almost gone as well. It has been several days since it last rained."

Legolas raised his head and looked about. To the west he saw a curtain of grey rain.

"Look, Gimli. We shall soon have water enough."

"To wash down the raw fish," growled Gimli, putting on a show of being disgruntled. Actually, he was really quite sick of lembas bread, and the idea of raw fish did not disgust him as much as formerly. "Might actually be a nice change from those elvish biscuits," he muttered.

The two voyagers watched hopefully as they neared the storm line, and they readied the water casks. But just as it seemed that the first droplets would strike the boat, the grey rain-curtain turned to silver glass and rolled back. The two voyagers almost cried out in disappointment, but then they smelled a sweet fragrance and saw white shores and beyond them a far green country under a swift sunrise. In awe, both Elf and Dwarf watched as the land grew nearer and nearer. Legolas had abandoned the tiller, but the boat seemed to be sailing itself, drawn onward by an unseen force.

As the boat approached the land, there was one who watched it intently. Every day, for many long years, Elrond had stood upon the white shore. Always he gazed eastward, and each time a vessel appeared upon the horizon, he would allow himself to believe for the briefest of moments that his daughter would be upon it. Of course, he knew this to be a dream, for Arwen's decision had been irrevocable. He indulged himself nonetheless. At long last the boats had begun to dwindle, fewer and fewer arriving as the years passed. Finally the day had come when Círdan himself had sailed to these shores, standing at the helm of the last boat to depart Arda for the Undying Lands. Yet Elrond continued to keep vigil, always gazing eastward.

One day Galadriel had come to stand by him. She looked upon him and smiled gently. She knew his mind.

"Remember, Elrond, you are not alone in your sorrow. Many are the elven children who did not return from the battle at Helm's Deep. Many are the ones who fell elsewhere during the Wars of the Ring. Many are those who never took ship for the Undying Lands, and many are the parents who know what it is to be thus parted from their offspring."

Elrond bowed his head in acknowledgement. "This does not make my grief any less."

"No, but it has helped you know that you could endure it—as parents, Elf and Human alike, have long endured it."

Now Elrond stood gazing as a small vessel approached, one not of Círdan's making. Again he allowed his hope to take shape. But his vision was keen, and long before the boat reached land, he knew that his daughter was not upon it.

Círdan and Galadriel came to stand beside him.

"Who is on yonder vessel?' asked Círdan, keeper of the shore here as he had been in Arda.

"Legolas."

"Ah, that is good to know. Thranduil will be overjoyed. He had been resigned to the loss of his son."

Elrond stirred at hearing those words. He had not been thus resigned to the loss of his daughter.

"There is one other," observed Galadriel.

"Yes," said Elrond. "It is Gimli son of Glóin."

"Gimli son of Glóin? He is no Elf," declared Círdan.

"True," said Galadriel. "But he has been named Elf-friend."

"Elf-friend or no," retorted Círdan. "He is no Elf. In fact, he is one of the Naugrim."

"That race is gone from Middle-earth, as are the Elves," said Galadriel mildly. "There is no place there for Gimli son of Glóin."

"That was neither our doing, nor is it our concern," Círdan replied firmly.

Galadriel looked at Elrond. He said nothing.

The boat reached the shore. Legolas lowered the sails and then leaped out and made as if to pull the boat higher up the beach. Círdan, however, raised his hand and stayed him.

"Legolas Thranduilion, you are welcome here. That Dwarf, however, may not debark upon these shores. You must push that vessel back into the sea, and he must return to the east."

Legolas obeyed, but as the boat began to drift from land, he climbed aboard once again and started to raise the sail.

"Legolas, what are you doing?" called Círdan.

"I am returning to Middle-earth," Legolas called back.

Gimli spluttered his protest when he realized that his friend meant to hold fast to his resolve to stay by the Dwarf's side.

"Legolas, you cannot do this!"

"Peace, Gimli. I would know only sorrow if I were to forsake you—and that for an eternity."

"Do you understand what you are doing?" cried Círdan in astonishment.

"Yes," Legolas said simply.

"You would forfeit the Undying Lands for a Dwarf?"

"No!" Legolas exclaimed. "I would forfeit them for a friend!"

"Legolas Thranduilion, what shall I say to your father? In joy he shall hear that one last ship has arrived and that you are upon it. He shall hasten to greet you, only to learn that you have departed for the east, never to be seen again."

At this Elrond spoke. The Elf lord had ready the words he knew he must say.

"Círdan, many are the elven children who did not return from the battle at Helm's Deep. Many are the ones who fell elsewhere during the Wars of the Ring. Many are those who never took ship for the Undying Lands, and many are the parents who thus know what it is to be parted from their offspring." Softly he added, "I myself know this sorrow." Then he raised his voice once again: "But it is not necessary that Thranduil be forever parted from his son. If Legolas will not leave the Dwarf, then let the Dwarf accompany him, for I deem that Gimli should take the place of one of the fallen. Oft has this Dwarf chosen to risk his life for this Elf, and as you see, this Elf willingly offers to surrender his immortality to remain with his companion. Such friendship should be honored. Let both Elf and Dwarf together be admitted to these Undying Lands."

Círdan stood silent. Elrond took a deep breath and spoke again.

"If those words satisfy you not, Círdan, then let it be said that Gimli son of Glóin was given the place of Arwen daughter of Elrond. Let it be said that from this moment forth never again did Elrond stand upon the white shores looking longingly toward the east."

Círdan had never been called upon to answer such a request, and it seemed to him that he had no precedent to guide him. Then he bethought himself of the ship that had carried the two Ring-bearers away from Mithlond. Those sojourners had been Hobbits, not Elves, and they had been accompanied by a Maia in the guise of a Man. Would it be so strange if a Dwarf were to follow in their wake, moreover a Dwarf who had been one of the Company of Nine, a Dwarf whom Galadriel had named Elf-friend?

Long did Círdan consider. At last he nodded.

"Very well, Elrond. It shall be as you wish. This Elf and Dwarf who have journeyed long together shall not be parted now."

With that, Legolas beached the boat a second time and drew Gimli from it to the shore.

At first Gimli knew not what to say or how to act, but Legolas was at pains to put him at ease. It was not only Legolas, however, who made the Dwarf feel welcome in that strange land. In the days and months and years to come, Gimli, who had ever taken delight in the bones of the earth, passed many an hour upon the beach. There he discovered to his pleasure that many beautiful rocks were to be found, stones tumbled smooth in the surf, some cast up from the depths and unlike any Gimli had ever seen before. The Dwarf was joined in this occupation by Elrond. Together, heads down, they would pace the beach, stopping to share and exclaim over each new discovery. The day at an end, they would leave their cairn of stones to be swept aside by the incoming tide, confident that the following day would bring new marvels.

As Elrond studied these stones, turning them over and over in his hands, he came to remember the pebbles that an infant Arwen had collected from the banks of the Bruinen, pebbles scoured smooth by the fast-moving waters. He smiled at the thought, and he smiled again as he realized that even now a child of a child of Arwen would be collecting pretty pebbles and exclaiming over them and carrying them to her parents to be admired.

"A child who would not be," he whispered to himself, "if Arwen had not remained behind to join as one with Aragorn. A child who would not be if Arwen's bones had not become as one with the rocks of the earth."

And so Elrond kept his promise to Círdan. He went often to the white shores, but never again to stare longingly to the east. Instead, he looked to the sand, and every smooth stone he caressed, he touched again the face of his daughter. And together, Elf and Dwarf were at peace.


End file.
